Cain awoke the next morning feeling refreshed, invigorated by a deep and dreamless sleep. Sunlight streamed gently through the crystal-clear windows, painting soft patterns across the polished wooden floor. Sitting up slowly, he glanced around, appreciating the comforting solidity of the Town Hall's walls, the reassuring presence of the sturdy beams, and the elegant yet practical iron chandeliers suspended from the high ceiling. Yet despite its newfound structural elegance, Cain couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that lingered within these rooms.
As he rose and stretched, he imagined what it might be like to summon others into this hall—a structure beautiful yet bare, impressive yet incomplete. The thought troubled him deeply. It felt irresponsible, almost cruel, to summon people into a place that offered little more than walls and a roof. Cain knew instinctively he had a duty beyond mere survival; it was his responsibility to provide genuine comfort and safety.
"No," he whispered softly, conviction firming his voice, "not yet. First, I need to make this place feel like home."
Shadowfax, awake now as well, approached with a gentle nudge, as though sensing Cain's renewed sense of purpose. Cain smiled warmly, stroking the horse's silver mane affectionately.
"Let's get to work, my friend," he said. "We have a home to prepare."
Cain set out swiftly toward the forest edge, gathering armfuls of soft, springy moss, long reeds, and thick bundles of dried grass. Shadowfax trotted easily alongside, nudging occasional clumps of grass or loose branches into manageable piles. By midday, Cain had gathered ample materials, enough to fashion several comfortable beds and mats.
Returning to the hall, he chose a spacious room near the main hearth to create sleeping quarters. Cain knelt carefully, layering moss and dried grass into broad, comfortable pads, securing them with tightly woven reeds.
Over these he draped soft animal furs he'd meticulously prepared, forming beds that promised warmth and comfort, a place of refuge and true rest.
Shadowfax watched the proceedings closely, following Cain from room to room with a keen interest.
As Cain began arranging one particularly large sleeping mat near the hall's hearth, Shadowfax nudged him gently aside, stepping deliberately onto the thick bed of moss and fur. He turned in place once, twice, then settled down with a heavy, contented sigh, claiming the spot as unmistakably his own.
Cain chuckled warmly, shaking his head with quiet amusement. "Oh, I see," he said dryly. "Claiming your spot already, are we?"
Shadowfax flicked his tail slightly, closing his eyes in satisfied defiance, clearly declaring the matter settled. Cain smiled, knowing there was no point arguing further. Instead, he turned to the task of creating furnishings for the hall.
Outside once more, Cain selected several sturdy pine trunks he'd set aside previously, shaping each one carefully into solid, stable tables and benches. His axe swung rhythmically, shaping timber into clean, flat surfaces.
Using his hunting knife, he carefully smoothed each surface, removing splinters and rough edges, revealing wood grain smooth beneath his skilled hands. Once satisfied, he carried each finished piece inside, placing them strategically around the main hall and adjoining rooms.
For the primary dining area, Cain built a large table, sturdy enough to seat multiple people, supported by heavy wooden legs carefully notched and secured without nails. He placed benches on either side, designed simply yet practically, their surfaces smooth and comfortable. In smaller side rooms, he arranged smaller tables and stools, each crafted with meticulous care and attention to detail.
Throughout the afternoon, Cain made repeated trips to gather resources, carefully stacking wood, stones, animal hides, and bundles of dried herbs neatly in a small storage room he'd selected at the rear of the building.
He soon discovered that as he placed these materials inside the magical inventory circle provided by the system, they shimmered briefly, vanishing from view yet registering clearly within his mind, a neatly organized inventory always accessible to him. This fascinating enchantment amazed and reassured him, promising both practicality and security for future endeavors.
Gradually, room by room, the Town Hall transformed under Cain's careful and thoughtful efforts. No longer a barren, empty shell, it became a welcoming, practical space, ready to embrace inhabitants. It exuded a subtle yet profound sense of warmth and safety, comfort and belonging.
Finally, with twilight approaching, Cain lit a warm, crackling fire in the main hearth. Flames leaped cheerfully upward, illuminating the polished floors, casting gentle shadows that danced across walls and ceilings. The room filled with a rich, golden glow, transforming instantly into a place of genuine warmth and comfort.
He turned quietly, observing each room carefully—sleeping quarters now cozy and inviting, dining areas prepared for communal gatherings, storage rooms neatly stocked with resources. Even Shadowfax's self-claimed corner had taken on an unmistakable sense of belonging, the proud horse now stretched luxuriously across his bedding, eyes half-closed in contentment.
"You certainly seem comfortable," Cain teased gently, leaning against the wall near Shadowfax.
The horse opened one eye briefly, giving Cain a look that clearly said, And why shouldn't I be?
Cain laughed quietly, shaking his head with affectionate exasperation. He settled himself beside Shadowfax on the sturdy wooden bench he'd placed near the hearth, savoring the warmth of the fire against his skin. Exhaustion tugged at his muscles, yet the quiet satisfaction of meaningful labor filled him deeply, soothing every ache with a profound sense of accomplishment.
"We've done well," Cain murmured softly, gazing thoughtfully into the dancing flames. "This is finally a home—not just a building, but a place where people could truly live. Thrive, even."
Shadowfax shifted slightly, resting his head more comfortably against Cain's leg, a silent yet unmistakable gesture of trust and companionship.
Cain exhaled softly, eyes drifting shut, reflecting on everything they'd achieved in so short a time. He imagined voices filling the halls—laughter and conversation, life thriving within these walls they'd built together. Yet, beneath the comforting vision, Cain felt the gentle weight of responsibility resting squarely on his shoulders. Soon, he'd summon others here—real people, each with their own needs, hopes, and fears. He knew he must be ready, prepared to guide, protect, and support them fully.
"Tomorrow," he whispered quietly, conviction firming his voice. "Tomorrow we'll bring others here."
Yet, even as the word "tomorrow" passed his lips, his gaze drifted irresistibly toward the softly glowing pedestal at the end of the hall. He shifted uncomfortably, an impulsive curiosity beginning to nag at him. His rational mind urged patience, caution—but another part of him whispered, slyly persuasive: What harm could it really do?
Cain leaned forward, elbows resting thoughtfully on his knees, eyes fixed on the summoning circle.
After eighteen long, solitary years in this world, he had yet to share even a fleeting moment with a woman. Unbidden, vivid fantasies blossomed within his mind—perhaps the pedestal, this miraculous stone, might summon not a rough, hardened peasant man who bowed stiffly and called him "my lord," but instead something far more enticing.
He imagined, heart quickening, a beautiful young woman appearing before him, buxom and voluptuous, with generous curves and ample breasts that would put even the most attractive Instagram models from his old life to shame. Her hips wide and inviting, eyes soft yet fiery, lips curved in a welcoming, tantalizing smile…
His pulse quickened, and heat rose to his cheeks. Cain glanced sheepishly at Shadowfax, who opened one eye briefly, staring at him with evident skepticism.
Cain shrugged, voice defensive yet guilty. "What? I mean…just one couldn't hurt, right?"
Shadowfax snorted lightly, unimpressed, and closed his eye again, apparently choosing to distance himself from whatever foolishness Cain was about to undertake.
Ignoring the horse's silent judgment, Cain rose slowly, stepping hesitantly toward the dais. He paused only briefly, doubt flickering across his features, before impulsiveness overcame caution. He placed his hand upon the pedestal firmly, heart beating rapidly in his chest.
"Summon one peasant," he murmured softly, anticipation surging through him.
The runes pulsed gently, the room briefly filled with a soft glow that quickly faded, leaving silence in its wake. Cain leaned forward expectantly, excitement tightening his chest—but his hopeful grin immediately faltered.
Instead of the beautiful woman he'd envisioned, Cain's heart sank rapidly as his eyes landed on a tiny, naked baby lying on the cold stone floor of the hall. The infant began crying immediately, loud, heart-wrenching sobs echoing throughout the previously peaceful hall.
Cain stood frozen, utterly horrified, staring wide-eyed at the infant. Shadowfax lifted his head slowly, regarding the crying baby, then turned his gaze back to Cain with unmistakable judgment, shaking his head slowly and deliberately.
Cain sighed deeply, shoulders slumping in embarrassment and resignation. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
The baby's cries intensified, tiny fists flailing, echoing harshly off the stone walls. Quickly overcoming his initial shock, Cain hurried forward, carefully scooping the child into his arms, holding it awkwardly yet protectively against his chest.
"Shhh," he murmured soothingly, already feeling a pang of guilt at his impulsive choice. "It's okay, little one. I've got you."
He glanced sheepishly over his shoulder at Shadowfax, who still regarded him with clear exasperation.
"Okay, you were right," Cain admitted begrudgingly, cradling the sobbing infant gently, trying to warm the small body with his coat. "Maybe I should have waited until tomorrow after all."
Shadowfax exhaled a long, slow sigh, as if to say, I told you so.
Cain shook his head ruefully, a reluctant smile forming on his lips despite his predicament. He settled back onto the bench, holding the small child tenderly. Gradually, the baby's sobbing quieted into small, soft hiccups, tiny fingers gripping Cain's thumb tightly.
"Well," Cain murmured softly, looking down into the child's innocent eyes, "I suppose our little family just grew by one, didn't it?"
Shadowfax snorted lightly in resigned amusement, lowering his head once more onto his bed, eyes drifting shut again, leaving Cain alone to face the consequences of his impulsive decision.
As darkness deepened around them, Cain gently rocked the baby in his arms, heart warming slowly, the initial panic subsiding into gentle, protective affection. It wasn't the future he'd envisioned just moments ago, yet somehow, it felt strangely right.
"Tomorrow," he whispered softly, smiling gently at the now peaceful infant, "tomorrow we'll sort everything else out."
And as he cradled this new, unexpected life, Cain realized that sometimes the most meaningful journeys began with the most unexpected first steps.